


Baby Come Back (You Know I Don't Want To Be Free)

by thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes



Series: Non-Linear Stories of Wanderer [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Allison Weiss - I Was An Island (Song), Gen, Guitars, Mild Blood, Music, Names, Other, Singing, Tourette's Syndrome, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes/pseuds/thehoesthoeinallthelandofhoes
Summary: A shared moment of vulnerability.





	Baby Come Back (You Know I Don't Want To Be Free)

**Author's Note:**

> The tics are based off of my own tourettes.

 The rain rolled down Deacon's neck and into his shirt non-stop. The fabric of the old flannel clung to his skin uncomfortably, and he found himself tugging at it incessantly. Wanderer was no better, their long, brown hair dense with water; and it cascaded down their back in tresses. Neither of them spoke as they walked down the empty road, both sulking at the dismal weather, and, quite frankly, neither of them were in a very good mood. The previous night had been... difficult.  
  
//"I never told you my name."  
  
"Neither did I."  
  
A beat of silence passed.  
  
"... I'm  Freja."  
  
Another beat.  
  
"... I'm John."  
  
Wanderer gave him a skeptical look. His insides burned with fear.//  
  
Suddenly, a voice rang out amongst the silence, shattering it like glass.  
  
"Woah woah woah, shut the fuck up a second."  
  
Instantly, Wanderer grabbed Deacon by his rolled up sleeve, and tugged him into an alley. The two of them reached for their weapons, Deacon's rifle ready within seconds, and Wanderer's silenced pistol unsheathed from the band around their thigh. They both crouched down and peaked out around the outer wall of one of the buildings they had hidden between, and scanned their surroundings. Deacon caught sight of the raiders first, nudging Wanderer with his elbow and pointing. They looked down the sight of their gun with their one good eye and took a deep breath. Then there was a quiet sound of rushing air as they took the shot.  
  
"What the fuck!?"  
  
The raiders around the fallen corpse that had previously been their comrade, unsheathed their weapons and began searching for the two of them. Deacon followed one of the raiders with his eyes from behind his sunglasses, until they stopped moving, then inhaled deeply and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered the wall behind the dead man, and Wanderer's ears began ringing from the volume of their companion's gun. They never did like how not-stealthy Deacon's weapon of choice was, and this was exactly why- the door to the building they were hiding next to opened and several men and women came running out. Wanderer sighed and pulled out a Stealth Boy from their messenger bag, then twisted the knob and seemingly vanished. Deacon smirked, but stayed put as his leader walked openly into the middle of the street, safe due to their invisibility, and took another shot. Together, they made quick work of their enemies, Wanderer taking out two in quick succession, followed by Deacon killing the last with another well-placed shot in the back.  Wanderer looked around for a few moments, analyzing their surroundings until they were sure that it was safe.  
  
"Oh, thank fuck." Deacon heard them exhale, chuckling as he looked over to see them rematerialize and instantly burst into a fit of tics, slapping their chest, throwing their head back and letting out a string of quiet curses mainly consisting of 'faggot' and 'lick my dick.' When they had gotten it all out of their system, they looked over and smiled at Deacon, only for their expression to suddenly drop as they looked up at the sky behind him. Green clouds rolled in over their heads, and Wanderer's Pip-Boy began to clock aggressively. Rapidly, Deacon stood up and ran over to them, grabbing them by the arm and running into the closest building, which happened to be the one previously inhabited by the raiders.  
  
As the door shuts behind them, the geiger counter on Wanderer's wrist slowly stops clicking, leaving them in a comforting silence. The two of them looked at each other for a moment.  
  
"Check upstairs, I'll take care of down here." Wanderer declaresd and Deacon simply nodded and proceeded to do as he was tomd, walking towards the stairs he could see peaking through a barely-open door. Wanderer begins searching the room for any salvage, pocketing a few things that looked either useful, interesting, or valuable. They noticed several boxes for instruments stacked in the corner of the room, and registered that the building they had sight refuge in must have been a music store. They searched the backroom for any more enemies, but found it thankfully empty, except for a guitar case stacked against the wall. Out of curiousity, they walked over, stepping over an old, discoloured skeleton in the middle of the room, and picked up the case. Surprisingly, ir felt heavy in their hands, and they silently celebrated their discovery.  
  
As Wanderer walked out of the backroom, guitar in hand and a smile on their face, Deacon sat on a chair behind the counter, waiting. When he saw them, he perked up and grinned, immediatelly noticing the instrument.  
  
"Didn't know you were a rockstar." He quipped, and Wanderer smiled at him.  
  
"Far from it, I'm just a wannabe indie artist." They chuckled as they walked behind the counter and sat on the other chair, next to Deacon. They adjusted their grip on the guitar, then plucked at the strings lightly, grimacing when the only sound that came out of the instrument was jilted and unappealing. Deacon huffed a laugh through his nose, and watched intently as they plucked one string at a time and adjusted the knobs on the top of the guitar until the sound was more bearable. Eventually, they settled for slightly out of tune and began strumming some notes. The sound was good, not perfect, but good, and Deacon was more than a little impressed as he watched Wanderer's short fingers dance across the fingerboard in specific novements. After a moment of this, they stopped and looked over at Deacon, a 'what do you think' communicating between them silently.  
  
"Do you sing, too?" Deacon asked, genuinely curious. Wanderer stared at him for a moment, contemplating something, then they opened their mouth.  
  
"I was an island  
Before you came along  
Put your boat in my sand  
Your hand in my hand  
Your heart in my songs."  
  
  
Deacon's lips parted slightly as he inhaled sharply, but silently, watching and listening with rapt attention. Wanderer's voice wasn't as good as Magnolia's, and the song itself wasn't really his cup of tea, but something about the shared moment was soothing and strangely vulnerable.  
  
"I was a fighter  
And I was so brave  
But I lowered my sword  
When you held me and swore  
You'd stay, stay, stay oh."  
  
Deacon swallowed thickly, a sharp lump in the back of his throat as he watched the performance from behind the safety of his shades. He noticed that Wanderer didn't tic when they sang. Part of him wanted to get up and run, disappear for a few days, then come back and act like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed.  
  
"I can't do this alone anymore  
Cause I'm no good on my own anymore  
What did I do to deserve this?  
What did you do to me?  
Baby, come back  
You know I don't want to be free."  
  
There was s tangible shift in the air that locked into place as Wanderer looked over at Deacon and continued singing. It had gone from a feeling of comradery to a feeling of closeness, a closeness that caused anxiety to bubble up in his chest.  
  
"I was a rebel, but I had a cause  
'Til you came to town  
Pushed me around  
And showed me what love was."  
  
Deacon shifted in his seat as he found himself unable to look away from the other's stare, his concentration captured indefinetaly. He felt his breath hitching and forced himself to breathe normally, though it took more effort than he would like to admit.  
  
"I was a wolf, dear  
Apart from the pack  
But you answered my cry  
In the dead of the night  
And told me that you had my back, oh."  
  
Suddenly, Wanderer smiled, toothy and crooked as they performed. Deacon couldn't help but smirk back at them, despite his inner dilemma. He felt awkward, like he was taking up too much space, like he was intruding on something meant for someone else. But nevertheless, he stayed.  
  
"I can't do this alone anymore  
Cause I'm no good on my own anymore  
What did I do to deserve this?  
What did you do to me?  
Baby, come back  
You know I don't want to be free."  
  
Wanderer stayed silent for a while as their fingers moved in complicated motions, making the guitar emit a beautiful string of sounds. Deacon watched their hands move throughout the instrumental part of the song, holding his breath, as if he couldn't function properly without Wanderer's voice in his ears. It was a strange feeling, and he couldn't quite figure out if he liked it or not, but he allowed it to wash over him as he listened.  
  
"I can't do this alone anymore  
Cause I'm no good on my own anymore  
What did I do to deserve this?  
What did you do to me?  
Baby, come back  
You know I don't want to be free oh  
Baby, come back  
You know I don't want to be free  
No, No, No  
Baby come back  
You know I don't want to be free."  
  
The song ended, and with it, so did their moment of shared vulnerability. Deacon coughed at the awkward silence that followed the last strum of Wanderer's guitar, and they looked at him expectantly. Deacon realised in that moment that they had just given him something important, a piece of themselves that meant something to them, and it left them on uneven ground. Deacon was expected to give something back, but he couldn't bring himself to utter any words, his whole body icy cold with terror.  
  
Finally, Wanderer sighed and stood up, grabbing the guitar case and beginning to put away the instrument. Deacon watched as they slung the bag over their back and began walking over to the door, frozen with panic. Wanderer gave one last look over their shoulder, then opened the door and stepped out into the irradiated rain. Deacon finally shook off his temporärt paralysis, and jumped out of his seat, running over to the door and bolting out of the store. He saw their retreating back, and, not knowing what else to do, yelled something he hadn't uttered in a long time.  
  
"Jonathan!"  
  
Wanderer dropped dead in their tracks, then turned around, taking a half-step over to Deacon.  
  
"What?" They called, brows furrowed in confusion. Deacon took a deep breath.  
  
"I'm Jonathan."  
  
After a beat of silence, Wanderer smiled brightly, and Deacon realised something: if this was what it felt like to be held captive, then he didn't want to be free.


End file.
